


Feitceira

by bangintulip



Series: The mob au verse [2]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, Humiliation, M/M, Not Beta Read, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25097251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangintulip/pseuds/bangintulip
Summary: Morty can feel his breath on his ear, he can smell the pungent aroma of whiskey that burns his nostrils that he’s somehow begun to grow accustomed to. Rick’s hands reach for his shaking ones that were trembling at his side, he presses the weight of his chest onto Mortys back, and the brunet almost wants to lean into it. He’s not sure why he feels safe, secure, like nothing can hurt him, maybe because Rick is here and no one can hurt Rick. His hands are led to the mangled torture victims’, a remaining not broken ring finger.“You have to feel the bone break.” Rick whispered in his ear, it would probably sound gentle if not for his gravelly voice. Morty likes it this way though. So much so that he’s not even computing that Rick is making him break someone’s fucking finger.
Relationships: Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Series: The mob au verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816816
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	Feitceira

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't in any particular order for the mob au, just some fics ive been writing and wanted to get out there lol. Enjoy!

Morty hadn’t meant to get involved with _the_ Rick Sanchez, but he had a habit of walking into dangerous situations or as Summer so eloquently put it “being a fucking idiot.” It’s not like he’d been headed on the right path to begin with due to his unstable house life; his mother drinking away a lot of their money and his dad having left a while back Morty did questionable things for money. At fourteen it started innocently enough with selling weed here and there, it was an accident to start when thinking he’d made a friend who was really using him as a cover to sell through him so said “friend” wouldn’t get caught. The guy was raking in so much money Morty decided to ditch him and sell on his own. Needless to say it didn’t go well, luckily Beth was too fucked up to notice how busted he looked for a few weeks straight. Summer, however, did notice and bitched at him about it until he handled his problem, she was and still is understandably worried. She also knew that Morty was stubborn and wouldn’t stop. Either that or her full stomach spoke louder.

He kept his head down, learned to fight back, and eventually he earned some modicum of respect by being left alone. Still, it was pocket change compared to what he could’ve been making selling something harder. Right now he was covering groceries but what if he could cover the rent, the utilities hell the car note. That’s how it started. At seventeen and by some miracle graduated from high school (a promise he made to Summer) he needed better prospects and was sick of running behind half assed gang bangers. He figured if he was going to commit he wouldn’t half ass it, and since he had no way of paying for school, the concept of a scholarship was laughable, no real skills and lights he still had to keep on it looked as if he’d be in this lifestyle for a while. He tried not to think about what could have been, if in some alternate universe his parents are together and he’s just a normal teenage boy and he’s content and not constantly exhausted. He tries not to think about it because he doesn’t have the time. There’s not enough fucking hours in the day. At any rate, through a frequent supplier he was told Rick Sanchez needed an “assistant” Morty wanted to reply “put an ad on indeed” but he knew a) probably not the time to be sarcastic and b) Rick fucking Sanchez doesn’t need help with filing. Maybe he did, who knows the guy had a reputation of being unpredictable.

God he hoped it was filing.

It wasn’t filing.

It was so far from filing he desperately wished he was a pencil pusher like his pathetic fuck of a father. Saying he was an errand boy was generous, at best he was an accomplice to federal offenses, at worse he was a guinea pig for deadly adventures. Rick was an unstable genius, a calm in a storm by his own creation. If Morty didn’t see the shit he did up close and personal he’d think the man was a god. His painfully human alcohol dependency, obsessiveness, scornfulness and even his stutter grounds Morty a great deal. He’s just like him…sorta. He’s not sure if that makes him feel worse though.

This particular day it was apparently urgent that he was punctual, not that he'd ever tested Rick’s patience and not come on time. No matter how early he arrived Rick was always doing something, reading something, watching _something._ He always looks as if he’s been interrupted and it leaves Morty wondering why he doesn’t just call him when he’s not busy, maybe he does it on purpose to watch Morty squirm. Whatever, he just wanted to do his job, get paid, and go home. So far he’s been getting paid pretty damn well, well enough to start paying for Summers’ college classes and then some. So if Rick needed him to stick something up his ass for a job he’d do it with a smile.

It’s less work than hiding a body anyways.

He was led by security into a dark, what he assumed, warehouse, when all of a sudden the lights were flicked on. Bright fluorescents stung his eyes, he squinted to adjust to the unexpected change in the room to see a man tied to a chair. Each arm securely buckled into place, those buckles locked in place by some sort of mechanism that forces man's fingers out and flat onto the arm of the chair. His legs are also bound individually, toes pointed forward and firmly set in place. Morty’s eyes jumped back up to his chest that lacked restraints, up to his gagged mouth and terror stricken eyes.

Holy shit why couldn’t they just shove something up his ass.

“S-Sir?” Morty’s voice pierced through the silence. He’s not sure if his stutter persisted no matter how old he got or because he was genuinely anxiety ridden at the moment. Both were equally plausible.

“Do you know the most effective way of torture, Morty?”

Oh great, he’s in one of those moods.

“N-no, sir I—this is pretty new to me.” He tried to keep the agitation out of his voice but it was difficult when a bound man was peering up at him for hope that he couldn’t provide and Rick was beginning a diatribe about torture.

“See, physical torture, pain there’s—it’s u-useless Morty. People will tell you anything to make the pain stop. People are useless, but people are loyal. Which is why these idiots are even told secrets. It’s-It’s collateral, because even if they told me the truth I wouldn’t believe the dipshit as far as I could throw him.”

For fucks sake, riddles, right now Rick? Morty sighs heavily, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he doesn’t want to sit through someone being tortured. He has yet to see anything particularly gruesome yet, sure he’s seen dead bodies at times but nothing gratuitous which he prefers to keep that way.

“If I wanted some shit, some real meaty shit that they’d put their fucking kids life up for, you get psychological M-Morty. “Truth serums” and all that. But you want—you want to know the best way to get what you want, kid?”

Morty's eyes followed Ricks slow movements, the man knew how to move in a suit and it was criminal. His eyes fell on a metal tray squeaking as it was wheeled in, carrying various knives, miscellaneous sharp objects, and other things Mortys never seen before on display. Just as he was getting distracted by Rick's nimble fingers hovering over a scythe like knife, the older man stopped in place and Mortys breath was caught in his throat.

“I asked you a question Morty.”

“I-I’m s-sorry. I—I don’t know s-sir.”

“The best way is to already have the information beforehand. Torture is unreliable, archaic, and messy.”

Morty cleared his throat a bit, then what the fuck were they doing here? “I…not to question you um s-sir, b-but then why a-all of this?” He had to speak up, he knew Rick wanted him to ask or maybe he didn’t. Either way the guy in the chair would be guaranteed to get the beating not him.

Before he could fully register everything he watched as Rick took one of the man’s fingers and twisted it upright, then back down sharply and heard a muffled scream. Morty winced and jumped, watching as the now broken finger laid limply as if it no longer had bones.

“Because you’re soft Morty, I need you to be able to see this without cringing. I’m not going to have a pussy errand boy. Look at me.”

Morty hadn’t even realized he’d been closing his eyes. Slowly he pried them open and watched as Rick grabbed another finger, repeating the same action to the digit but this time it laid in another direction although still limp. Morty could feel himself starting to break into a sweat, nerves making his skin hot and heart hammer, his stomach sinking.

“You wince now but what happens out on the f-field Morty. You hesitate, hesitation equals money. Lost.” He draws emphasis by breaking another finger, there’s more muffled screaming, Morty can feel his heart in his throat now. He keeps watching as Rick stalks over to Morty calmly, he reaches into his jacket pocket, tips his head back to take a pull from his flasks then places himself behind Morty.

Morty can feel his breath on his ear, he can smell the pungent aroma of whiskey that burns his nostrils that he’s somehow begun to grow accustomed to. Rick’s hands reach for his shaking ones that were trembling at his side, he presses the weight of his chest onto Mortys back, and the brunet almost wants to lean into it. He’s not sure why he feels safe, secure, like nothing can hurt him, maybe because Rick is here and no one can hurt _Rick_. His hands are led to the mangled torture victims’, a remaining not broken ring finger.

“You have to feel the bone break.” Rick whispered in his ear, it would probably sound gentle if not for his gravelly voice. Morty likes it this way though. So much so that he’s not even computing that Rick is making him break someone’s fucking finger. That weight against him, his breath, his voice, his scent that is just uniquely Rick has him intoxicated. The feeling starts to dull when his skin makes contact with victims, the pads of his ring finger are calloused like Ricks, but his knuckles are hairy.

“Lets go for a knuckle break this time, yeah?”

Morty squirms a bit, but nods. He lets Ricks' experienced hands guide him over the knuckle of the man’s hands, and feel there. He can feel hard bone and soft flesh. All of it seems so pliable when manipulated by someone like Rick Sanchez, it makes him break out in goosebumps. Rick makes motions to break and Morty begins to stiffen, but continues when he feels a squeeze to his other non-dominant hand. He’s not sure if it’s encouragement or a warning but he takes it as the latter. He starts to feel resistance as he pulls the finger back, _that’s because it’s not supposed to bend that way_ Morty thinks. He’s gotten into fights before, but he’s never had to get so intimate with injuries like this.

“When you feel resistance push harder.”

That had to be a metaphor, Morty wants to snort but finds it inappropriate. He pushes further and feels the bone begin fracture, he can physically feel as the bone begins to crack and pivot unnaturally so. The whole digit is contorted under his hands, rendering it useless. As slow as he went he could hear as the man screamed at a higher pitch the closer he got to fracturing the bone and working against the resistance.

“A-Atta boy, you feel that Morty?” Is whispered next to his ear, Rick’s large hand is pressed against his chest now and lips a hair away from his earlobe. Morty shivered, temporarily losing his ability to speak before fixing his mouth to speak.

“I-I-uh—yes,” He should be concerned about the guy's finger he just broke, not getting riled up by his boss. The fact that Rick was having this affect on him was a testament to his own growing warped perception. Sure he feared Rick Sanchez, everyone did hell he was convinced the man was frightened by his own chaotic mind, but there was something else, something in the pit of his stomach twisted, a carnal desire that he tried to keep dormant for his own sake.

It didn’t seem to matter however, Rick knew everything and he was sure to know this.

Rick's bigger hand still held a firm grip onto his smaller one, even with the added tremble Rick didn’t seem to care and why would he? This was ultimately about breaking Mortys resolve; to make him immune to the future carnage he’d have to witness. Rick just wanted to help right? Besides his life wasn’t a walk in the park, he was in the mob for fucks sake. With that in mind he tried to swallow down any sense of guilt and nerves, following Rick’s lead to grab the machete laying on the metal tray.

“What—Tell me what’s next hm?” Ricks harsh voice was still so close to his now burning ear lobe, so low and mesmerizing, the stench of booze wafting, his other hand still pressing onto his chest, inching at a snail’s pace down…

Morty doesn’t know if it’s because he’s flustered, overwhelmed or just the urge to make the don proud of him but held onto the machete firmly and went for the captors wrist, wanting to detach the entire hand but the item wasn’t exactly the sharpest. A choked sound leaves the man as Mortys eyes are wide and wild, chest heaving and nervous hands that make their way to back from the weapon and in turn his own crime, until Rick grips them again with just one of his. His other hand grabs the bottom of his jaw and again makes him look, the machete wouldn’t sink all the way due to the dull blade, probably hitting bone, blood squirted then streamed down the arm of the chair. Morty’s eyes were still like saucers, trying to register it all but the world around him zeroed in like the center of a black hole, time slowed down to insignificance.

A chuckle left Rick, and then he spoke “Should’ve sharpened them sons a bitches huh Morty? No worries we can still cut it off.” Rick didn’t make mistakes, he was convinced it wasn’t sharpened on purpose nonetheless he surged forward, their hands nearly molded as one as he helped Morty cut through the flesh, jimmying and jostling the blade, his hands aching because of the sheer force he had to use plus Rick’s relentless grip. He heard a crunch and another cry and knew they were turning the bone into fragments.

“O-Oh g-god...” Morty whispered

“M right here baby.” If it weren’t for Morty trying to stave off his nausea coupled with the gravity of the situation, he probably would have laughed. Although he doesn’t know if it’s because of how ridiculous Rick's ego is, or that in some way he’s right, the man _is_ a god. What’s even more pathetic on his end is that the “baby” made his pants tighten. Even with the eye full he was getting of a man’s mangled arm, wrist barely hanging onto muscle tissue and exposed bone that was starting to poke through, Rick always found a way to make him focus entirely on him.

The brunet licked over his bottom lip, not having realized how dry it had gotten from his own gaping. Their hands were still connected, holding onto the handle of the blade and it was as if Rick was waiting for his signal to keep going. So he did. At least the hard part was over, all that was left was the last little bit of muscle tissue and skin. One of Rick’s hands reached for the now barely there hand to lift a bit, as if filleting a piece of meat; the other that held Mortys did a clean sweep with the blade, completely detaching the appendage.

Morty turned in Ricks direction, and the genius dangled the hand with a smirk “See? W-Was that so hard?” Yes, yes it was.

“I-I guess n-not.” He turned his attention back to the man who, really, seemed as if they were on the verge of passing out. Rick seemed to realize, and took a needle from the table tray filled with something, injecting the man whose eyes popped open instantly. Rick then stepped from behind Morty, taking off his suit jacket to toss it carelessly on the floor and unbuttoning the sleeves to roll them up and again, now was not the time to lust over his sadistic boss.

With his knuckles cracked he stood over the man, “Pay attention, niño,” followed by a punch to the captors face. This went on for a few minutes; blow after blow enough to make the man’s face bruise, eyes swell and nose bleed, enough to hear certain bones crack, but never enough to knock him out. Even if Rick looked animalistic, his moves were still strategic, careful, _planned_. It was almost like watching an orchestrator, passionate yet deliberate, never unfocused. All of what he’s gotten intimately acquainted with in the short time he’s known Rick Sanchez.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until Rick finally stopped; it was shuddery unlike Rick’s sigh of satisfaction. He watched as the genius reached a bloody hand into his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes, those long graceful fingers plucking one from its pack and the click of a lighter. Another exhale from Rick, the kind of exhale after a long session of fucking until every part of you ached. To be fair, when Rick turned his way, bottom part of his crisp white button down now splattered in red like a Pollock painting, some of it reaching his cheek and of course his hands soaked it in, Morty couldn’t help but think this was intensely erotic. How fucked up was that?

He didn’t realize his cheeks were ablaze until Rick stroked it, “W-What’s the matter? A minute ago you were damn near lunging at the fucker to cut off his hand.” Morty didn’t know why but he nuzzled the blood soaked hand, his bottom lip quivering at the false sense of security Rick seemingly always gave him. False because no matter how comforting, he knew the blanket could be ripped from him at any moment, the cold washing over him that gives him a shock to his system. Like the cold however, he just had to get acclimated to the sudden change. This really, could cover all aspects of his life, routinely adjusting to the unexpected, to fix whatever he’s perceived as “normalcy” up until now. Rick took a drag off the cigarette still perched in his left hand and exhaled in Mortys face, causing his eyes to water.

“Or maybe—I think it’s something else eh Morty?” He stepped closer, and Morty was panting now, he felt exposed because he knew Rick read him like the uninteresting book he is. “This gettin’ you hot n bothered boy?” The still logical and functioning part of his brain knew he was being mocked, but unfortunately that part was tiny.

“I—No I just…” He didn’t know what to say, how could he answer when Rick was leering at him like this? As if he could see right through every aspect of his being, calculating his next move like he was a chess board. Rick’s soiled hand reached down to his slender neck, gripping their lightly first then slowly getting firmer. He could feel his own pulse in Rick’s fingers, which seemed to match the throb in his groin that was becoming a pressing matter. The grip to his throat only made the ache in his cock worsen, and it’s not like he was into this sort of thing, it's Rick’s strength, the notion of his life being in the man’s hands. Okay maybe that was worse. Either way Rick seemed to notice and placed the cigarette in his mouth, reaching for something on the metal tray with one hand, and then easily hoisted him up against the cement wall behind them with the other. It didn’t register to him even at the age of seventeen he was still slightly dwarfed by this man, and it made him shiver. Rick’s knee went between his legs, grinding at the hardness there and making Morty let out a strangled gasp.

“O-Oh fuck…s-sir…” He whimpered, earning him a sound of contemplation in return, followed by more smoke caressing his cheek. The hand from his neck was removed, although his feet have yet to touch the ground since he was balanced on the older man’s knee. One hand worked his shirt from its tucked place and felt up his torso, the pads of his fingers rough and worn which is the only thing he can say he expected out of tonight, then to his nipples that were now stiff. Morty moaned this time, head hitting the wall behind him and eyes twisting shut. Oh god, what the hell were they doing? This was all sorts of fucked up, his age not even being the most fucked up about it. Even then, he was running on instincts, his body taught like a bow to chase the fingers that were claiming his body.

“Man you’re sensitive as shit.” Rick sounded way too amused, and if Mortys eyes were open he was sure he’d see that all too familiar cocky smirk plastered on his face, furthering his case to keep them shut and only register other sensory. The smell of cigarette smoke, the feeling of Rick’s knee continuing to grind, hands seeking his body, the combination of everything making him light headed, at the same time tingles shot up his spine like his nerve endings were being stroked. Rick did this to him, he did this to his body and it drove him crazy not to have any self control.

“Tell ya what,” Rick removed his knee, letting his feet finally take their place on the ground and his hands removed entirely. He took the cigarette from his mouth and moved over to the, in Mortys mind, forgotten captor, burning it out on his forehead. As the man muffled a cry Rick continued to speak “You jerk that cute little cock of yours and t-tell me what I should maim next, a win win?” A win fucking win? In what version of reality was this beneficial to them both? Still, even as that thought passed he nodded and reached down to unbutton his pants with nervous fingers under the scrutinizing gaze of his boss. Sue him, he was hard, wound up and not thinking clearly and even if he were what was he going to say no? Rick didn’t take well to no’s or anything that questioned his authority for that matter.

He grabbed his own cock, it was starting to flag a bit from the other part of Rick’s order but nonetheless just getting a glimpse of his relaxed yet composed demeanor had him like steel. He stroked himself like he’d normally go about it in the comfort of his own home, twisting slightly on the upstroke and occasionally thumbing the head while his legs shook and thighs trembled. His eyes were slowly sinking shut, that is until fingers were snapped in front of his face “I said what’s next Morty?”

Shit he almost forgot, or at least he desperately wanted to. This time it wasn’t the fear of being an accessory to something so heinous, he wanted to forget this because the concept of Rick giving him ‘control’ while watching another man deteriorate was enough to make him almost come “U-uh, his—eyes, g-gouge them?” Holy shit he was apparently the worst person when he was getting close to an orgasm. He expected Rick to reach for another weapon, the screwdriver possibly, but the man of unpredictability struck again, using his thumbs in lieu of any object. Another throaty and muffled wail from the man followed by Mortys own frilly moans.

“A-Ah! G-god Ri-s-sir that’s—that’s so f-fuck—“ He didn’t begin to know how to finish the sentence, at a cross roads between saying how fucked up it was and how fucking hot it was. He kept his eyes glued to the scene, one of the man’s eye bursting blood and tissue from the socket like push pop, the nerve being the only thing even remotely keeping the thing attached, the other eye probably sunken in his skull.

Rick removed his fingers, walking up behind Morty and grabbing his neck once again making Mortys breath hitch.

“I knew it, you’re a sick fucking freak.” Rick growled in his ear, causing a bolt of electricity to shoot down to his lower back and back up again to his stomach. “You can play innocent allll you want to, but I knew behind that fucking performance was a perverted little bitch, just as fucked in the head as me.” Rick's hand went away briefly, he tried to defend himself, stuttering out “N-No” but something like the sound of a bottle cap being opened and closed distracted him. This was followed by his pants being shoved all the way down with swiftness, his body being contorted over the disfigured man. He wanted to back away in horror and disgust, his body recoiling however he was shoved down and a cold, wet finger entered his opening.

Oh god, he was wrong before, _this_ was fucked up, and what’s worse is he could feel his hard cock against the guys shirt collar, brushing repeatedly against the head as he was pushed forward due to the now two fingers (when did that happen?) up his ass. He could feel precome leaving the tip of his cock, his body was trembling and he was on the cusp of losing it, or so he thought. Rick decided he wanted to torture Morty as well, grabbing the base of his cock and switching up the angle to rub his prostate and holy fuck this was—he didn’t even recognize his own voice.

“Sir, fuck Rick p-please!” Please don’t stop, he wanted to say, he wanted to stay in this moment forever. The concept of him even deserving to have his body touched by someone of Rick's magnitude played on the feelings of humiliation often felt in the dons presence.

“Please what, slut? Please make you come all over a guys face you fucked up? Please use you like the flesh light you are? Like I’ve been dying to?” A small gasp of disbelief left Morty, of course he planned this shit. He didn’t know why he was exactly shocked, maybe because he expected the torture part maybe but Rick wanting to fuck him? It seemed implausible.

“You’re---You dumb fucking bitch. “Errand boy”? Really? You think someone like me needs an idiot fucking twink like you who at best, knows a bit of algebra 1?” Morty’s eyes were starting to well up with tears, he should’ve known Rick thought of him this way, why did he kid himself? His chest sank from the degradation of it all, yet his cock was beginning to leak precome excessively even with Ricks vice like hold at the base.

“Yeah, you fucking like that huh M-Morty? You’re wet like a fucking cunt.” More humiliation leaving the tears to finally spill and him sniffling a bit, his stomach twisted in knots, “Awww baby don’t cry, I absolutely have use for this sweet fucking ass of yours.”

A third finger was added, and the sting went away as quickly as it came. He felt so stretched at this point, and he didn’t know if Rick was going to fuck him but he couldn’t imagine feeling more open than this right now. He briefly looked down to the unresponsive body below, his pendulum like movements forward causing the eye still attached to the nerve to shake. He wanted to be sick and blow his load all at once, maybe Rick was right. He just might be a sick freak.

“Y-You knew though huh bitch? You had to have known when all your little tasks were taken care of, why—the reason why I had you do menial shit.” Morty had an inkling but still figured he held _some_ usage, he truly was an idiot huh? He never did any real work, not tangibly so anyways and he was more of an overpaid, glorified secretary that accompanied Rick on missions. He had to wonder why the man threw him in the mix of danger if his only use was his ass, was it a further plan to have Morty rely on Rick? To scare him into submission? He didn’t know and frankly right now didn’t care. Rick could clearly do whatever he wanted to him and for some reason the sheer concept of being in Rick’s control was the biggest turn on of all.

Fingers were removed, he heard the wrestling of a belt and trousers and Morty took this chance to shake one pant leg off, followed by looking back to get a glimpse of the geniuses dick. It was fleeting but a good eye full, long and thick and definitely going to hurt going in. He sadly didn’t have time to gape, turned back towards the captor, his body lifted back against Ricks sturdy chest and cradled into his arms so that his feet reposed on the arm rest, one part of it slippery from the missing hand that drew a lot of blood, his aching cock now in front of the victims face. He used his hands to grab at the top of the chair, trying to get balance and managed somewhat good footing but Rick handled the rest, pushing him down onto his cock with ease, both of them groaning in unison.

Rick began thrusting, not letting his body adjust for a second which did nothing but spur him on further. He was wrong about not being able to imagine being stretched out anymore, he was impossibly fucking full now. One of Rick’s hands traveled to his nipples, tweaking and pulling as his pace continued hard and punishing. Even with the complexity of this position Rick still managed to swipe over that spot with each thrust and it had Morty damn near screaming.

“This is your job niño, taking my cock when I say so, a cute glory hole like you should always have their holes filled, ain’t that right?” Fuck his brain was turning into mush, even the small added use of spanish was overwhelming. Every thrust pushing a moan out of him, the grip to his hip and the merciless pinch to his nipples, he couldn’t fucking think.

“Y-Yes! Fuck yeah! Use me—use me!” He didn’t care how he sounded, how he came across like a needy whore as soon as he got a cock in him, not just any cock, _Ricks_ cock. He didn’t care that his hips kept gyrating back eagerly, urgently needing that fat fucking thing filling him again and again. He didn’t care how shrill moans got when the older men sped up his pace.

“That’s right, such a good. Fucking. Boy.” Each word punctuated by particularly harder thrust, with an added angle switch up that left his eyes rolling back. Everything was building to a peak, a crescendo that was built on layers of pleasure, he didn’t notice that his cock went untouched but it was exciting to think he didn’t have to touch it to come his brains out.

“Listen to me Morty. You belong to me, you understand?” Rick growled, the hand on his nipple at his throat once more, squeezing as he continued “Your ass, your arms, your legs, your face, your cock, that useless fucking brain of yours...” the hand left his throat and pushed past his open mouth, pushing to hit the back of his throat. Morty licked at the digits sloppily, drool pooling then dripping out of the sides of his mouth “All of you Morty, your entire existence belongs to me, understand niño?”

He wanted to answer, he swore his mind was screaming an enthusiastic yes but for some reason the synapses weren’t firing. The words Rick spoke swirled around in his head, his existence, the reason him being born was to be used, to get fucked, to be possessed by this man. His eyes rolled back, fucking Christ this was too much, too hot, too fucking _good_. All he could whimper around them “Y-Yes, yours, all y-yours, n-need to come!”

“Ah, ah, ah, you’ll come when I say so bitch.” His hand was back around his neck, and Morty focused in on was the word come, he needed to fucking come, his balls were drawn up so tight, the tip of his cock was almost turning purple. He wanted to come so bad. “How bout a final blow eh? Do that and you can come all you want baby” He didn’t really understand what he was asking of him, until Rick uncurled one of his fingers from the top of the chair and replaced its hold with a knife. It clicked, and fuck that shouldn’t have turned him on more (if that was possible) but it did. He didn’t waste any time, his brain was playing the mantra ‘ _I wanna come, I wanna come, I wanna come’_ so he took his shaky, sweat soaked hand and gripped the knife, plunging it in the neck of the now, he’s sure decaying corpse. Or he _was_ sure until he heard the man make choked sounds as spat up blood from around the gag.

Morty came directly after, lifting his hips as he did so, and like Rick predicted, all over the butchered face before him. His vision went out momentarily; white and floaty as if he were in a dream like space. He knew Rick wasn’t too far behind, but he didn’t fully process him coming a huge load inside of him, he just knew it had to be big from how some of it dribbled down his thigh before the older man even pulled out.

Rick stood him up right after placing him back on the floor, but Mortys legs gave out almost immediately and he sank to the ground, trembling and still lost in a post orgasmic haze. His watery gaze fixated on the mob boss who looked as if he barely broke a sweat, watching as he tucked himself back in, then whistled and snapped his fingers. Two people in lab coats walked in, eyes detached and bored as if they’ve done this a million times, one wheeled the metal tray towards some double doors that he just realized were there, and the other followed up with the corpse.

Rick lit up another cigarette “Hope you learned something, kid.”

Morty couldn’t help but snort, he was still buzzing off the sex and right now Rick wasn’t his boss so much as a guy who fucked him into next week “I learned I’m a hole.” He got a brow raise in return, followed by a startling laugh that actually seemed genuine, the smile reaching his eyes. It was a rare and beautiful sight, only to be slightly dampened by Rick firmly grabbing his chin and saying:

“Correction, you’re _my_ hole.”

To say it wasn’t ideal was an understatement; it was far from how he wanted to earn his keep. He was essentially Rick’s personal whore who occasionally reads memos and goes for coffee runs, but he couldn’t help but think that he was lucky to even be that. He’s never seen Rick keep someone around for very long, his tendency to get bored or annoyed with someone routine. He might’ve been a fool for believing he could hold any importance in the don's life, but he had a feeling Rick didn’t stake claim on just anyone. It didn’t matter he reminded himself, he was just here to do a job whatever that might entail, it didn’t matter and it shouldn’t matter. But when Rick sat on his haunches, gripped the back of his sweaty and matted hair and kissed him hard, it mattered enough to make his insides melt.

Rick sat back up and did a light stretch, letting out what could only be classified as an old man grunt while Morty tried to get himself together.

“H-Hey Morty,”

“Hm?” Morty was preoccupied with his clothing before looking up and being met with the detached hand from the captor.

“Need a hand?” 

Mortys face fell between a look of exhaustion and annoyance which earned another hearty laugh from his boss.

So his job wasn’t filing, and involved shoving things, specifically Ricks cock up his ass but again, it was less work than hiding a body.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to tell me what you wanna see next! Thanks for reading


End file.
